


Clichéd

by westminster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, It's cheesy, M/M, a slight mention of johnlock, and such a cliché, greg being cute, honestly I wrote this at 4am idk what im doing, i should be studying, like really cheesy, my life is an absolute mess, smol mystrade fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westminster/pseuds/westminster
Summary: Greg never knocks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a coffee-infused fluff written when I should probably be revising for exams. Ah well. With that said, please take pity on me and ignore any grammatical errors.

Greg couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he'd fallen for Mycroft Holmes, but he guessed that didn't really matter. What  _did_ matter was this god damn file, ripped at the edges and adorned with multiple coffee stains, lying on his desk, unwilling to move.

 

Routinely, he cast his eyes to the digital clock next to him, checking the time every few minutes. Every minute that went by was another minute that the murder went unsolved, and if he'd made no progress, Greg faced no other option but to hand over the case to Sherlock and John. His reluctancy to hand Sherlock the case wasn't because he disliked the guy, on the other hand, he was one of the few people who actually cared about Sherlock, even if he wouldn't admit to it. It was, rather, because Greg Lestrade cared a whole awful lot about his job - as a single 40-something year old man, it was the only thing he really had going for him - and his department, at the moment, were under scrutiny. Greg couldn't blame them, what else would they think when he was willingly handing over murder cases to a mentally unstable drug addict?

 

But sure enough, 6:00pm came and he was no closer to finding out who suffocated an acrobat. Greg sighed, realising he'd make it home a lot later than planned.

 

*  
  


_"Sherlock, I have a ca-"_

 

Greg had never, ever knocked on John & Sherlock's door before entering. He was beginning to see why that was a huge mistake. Instead of being greeted by the scene of Sherlock dissected what he chose to assume was a pig's heart, or John reading the morning paper, he was confronted by the sight of Mycroft Holmes, standing by the fireplace, looking as unimpressed as ever.

_"I'm afraid my brother and his associate are currently unavailable, in light of their new relationship, they have decided to go abroad. John's idea. I assume you came to deliver a case?"_

Greg should have known. He should have known as soon as he saw dark car, hovering in the background of Baker Street, so obviously out of place. He should have known when he spotted the umbrella, leaning against the cabinet in the hall. It crossed Greg's mind that even though he should have known, maybe he didn't want to know, because if he did, Greg Lestrade would have turned around and left without a word. Instead, he was faced with Mycroft and inevitably, Greg was weak at knees, struggling to formulate a reply.

_"Oh...Erm...Yeah, particularly tricky one. I was hoping to hand it to Sherlock, to see if he could shed some light on it. I'll come back tomorrow, I don't mind."_

And with that, he was walking away, sheepishly, listening to Mycroft's deep inhale of breath and-

_"I can take a look at the case if you'd like? Sherlock won't be back until Thursday at the earliest."_

Greg finds himself at a loss for words, this is surely a dream and he'll wake up, realizing he's dozed off at work. But there is Mycroft Holmes, perched like a model on Sherlock's sofa, motioning for Greg to take a seat next to him. So Greg just nods, willingly, and begins explaining the case.

 _"By the handprints I'd say your perpetrator was a male, someone with quite a substantial amount of muscle. The lock on the door suggests he was let in - perhaps a boyfriend? A friend? Family? A boyfriend. Of Course - the rose petals in the bathtub were place there after she was strangled, made obviously by their level of buoyancy at the time of death."_  

Greg couldn't help but grin like an idiot at Mycroft Holmes, the man was amazing.

_"God, Mycroft, you're incredible."_

This time it was Mycroft who remained speechless, staring into Greg's eyes. _Oh, it was such a cliché._

 _"Thank you, Gregory. I'm not sure many people would describe me like that,"_ He whispered, finally breaking the silence, so close now that Greg could feel his Mycroft's breath on his face. In response, Greg smiled warmly, his entire face lighting up, longing for Mycroft to lean forward just a little bit, to be brave when Greg wasn't.

Mycroft stares at him for a torturously long second and Greg knows that something is about to happen. And then, tentatively, Mycroft closes the gap, and his lips are there, hot against Greg's, warm and open and desperate. Greg's hands latch onto the other man's shoulders, then bringing his hands up to cup the back of Mycroft's head, stroking his hair as the kiss becomes increasingly more frantic. Mycroft moans in a way that goes straight to Greg's lower regions, and Greg, in return, straddles Mycroft and plants soft kisses along his jaw. Mycroft's hands slip around Greg's waist to palm his ass through his pants, to grip and tug so that Greg grinds against Mycroft's now hard cock, straining against his pants. Greg moves to unbuckle Mycroft's belt and Mycroft swats his hands away.

_"Gregory Lestrade, there is absolutely no way that I am having sex with you in my brother's apartment."_

Greg sticks out his bottom lip and pouts, tilting his head slightly like a cocker spaniel.

_"...And no matter how delicious you look, I won't do it."_

_"He won't know."_

_"No."_

Mycroft plants a single kiss on Greg's forehead, holding his chin sensitively.

_"I must leave. I apologise. We shall certainly continue this another time, preferably not in the home of any of my relatives."_

Accepting defeat, Greg watched Mycroft leave. Tracing the marks Mycroft had made on his neck just moments ago, the memory of Mycroft still fresh on his skin.


End file.
